


Technical Difficulties

by alt3r3go



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Enemas, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alt3r3go/pseuds/alt3r3go
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor is experiencing slight technical difficulties. Rose knows how to help -- if she can convince him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technical Difficulties

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was written for the anonymous Doctor Who kink fest, for the "Ten/Rose, enemas" prompt. I don't think it's very graphic in description, but please don't read if you're squicked by the idea.

Rose found the Doctor in the library, surrounded by piles of books in his ornate native script. He didn't turn around as she came in, so she spent a moment just looking her fill; somehow or other they hadn't seen much of each other in the last few days.

He was in his shirtsleeves, something she didn't get to see often. Rose always thought it was a bit odd: he was joyful and uninhibited in bed, often rather more so than she with her ingrained 21st century background, but he had a Thing about clothing, usually wearing a fantastic amount of layers. His sole concession to visiting a hot planet would be leaving off his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt – and, as often as not, wearing another T-shirt underneath instead. She often wondered what the clothing etiquette on his planet had been like, but it wasn't something she could ask casually.

Walking up to him she rested her hands on his shoulders and looked down at what he was reading. Gallifreyan was the only language the TARDIS refused to translate, but Rose rather thought this text looked different from the usual. "What's that?" she asked casually, running her thumbs along his neck.

He leaned back into her, sighing. "Molecular biochemistry. Mmm, that's nice."

Assuming he didn't mean the book, she began to rub his shoulders in earnest. "A little light reading, yeah?" When he didn't answer, she looked down at him, frowning. "Doctor? Is everything all right?"

He sighed and took off his specs, dropping them carelessly on top of the book. "Rose, I won't admit to having ever said this, but my people could be monumentally stupid sometimes."

Taken aback, she gaped for a moment, before settling on a noncommittal "oh?"

"We were genetically engineered to be able to control most organic functions on a conscious level," he explained absently, leaning back into her hands.

She dug her fingers into a tight knot of muscle. "That doesn’t sound stupid."

"Well, no, not as such," he agreed. "Saved my life a couple of times. Ohh, yes, right there."

She grinned. "What, like, when you got in trouble for meddling on some weird planet? Why, I never!" He smiled but didn't answer. "So, what's stupid about that?" she prompted after a moment.

He was quiet for a long moment. "In theory, nothing. In practice, it means that when not paying attention – or paying too much attention, really – one can encounter slight, well, technical difficulties."

She paused, alarmed. "You aren't sick, are you?"

"Oh, no. No, no," he said quickly. "Well. Not as such."

"Meaning?" she asked briskly, torn between worry and exasperation.

"There are no pathogens involved," he said brightly, "ergo I am not sick."

She rolled her eyes. "And the slight technical difficulties are what; you've gone partially deaf in your left ear?"

He muttered something, too quietly for her to hear. She leaned forward, nose almost buried in his hair. It smelled of the weird citrus-y hair gel he'd been favouring lately. "What was that?"

"I said: no, not my left ear," he repeated loudly, then extricated himself from her hands and the chair and stood up. "Really, Rose, it's hardly relevant… oh, alliteration! I used to rrrrrroll my rrrr's terrrrribly, you know. It's always hit and miss, the accent—"

"Doctor!" she said impatiently. "Why can't you just tell me what's wrong?"

He looked away, rubbing his ear – the right one. "I just told you, Rose. Complete control of our bodies, yes? Time Lords do not get sick. If something goes wrong it's at best an oversight and at worst carelessness."

Living with an alien had taught her how hard and often downright impossible it was to go against one's social conditioning. She stepped closer and put a hand on his cheek, gently turning him to face her. "I bet the others never did so much running as you do. You're allowed to overlook details when you're saving planets every day, yeah?"

He took her hand in his, kissing her palm briefly. "They didn't consider that sort of thing decent, you know. There was a strict policy of non-interference where other species were concerned."

For a moment she was on the verge of asking him about it; it was so seldom he actually told her anything about his people and his lost home. But then, she knew him well enough to recognise when he was dangling an interesting subject in front of her as an attempt to evade an uncomfortable topic. "All right. And the slight technical difficulties?"

He pursed his lips and rubbed his neck. She waited patiently. Eventually he sighed and looked away again. "If you really must know, it's not the left ear; it's the lower gastrointestinal tract," he muttered.

She frowned, trying to figure it out. "What, like diarrhoea?"

His ears were bright red. "Weeelll, yes, sort of. Only a bit different. Or a lot different. Possibly even the exact opposite."

"Oh." He looked so embarrassed that she looked away to give him the illusion of privacy. "Can't you just take a pill or something?"

"Ah. Well." He ruffled his hair making tufts of it stand straight up. "That's actually tied in with the same genetic engineering." Looking a bit more collected now that the topic had moved back to theory he gestured to the open books on the table. "Your body, for example, can be quite easily fooled into accepting foreign enzymes or hormones and using them."

"Like insulin shots when you're diabetic?"

He beamed at her. "Yes, exactly!"

"And yours?" she asked, when it became obvious that he wasn't going to continue.

He sighed. "Our bodies were specifically programmed to not accept any substitutes. It's virtually impossible to synthesise a hormone that could have any effect on me, for example. Even if it was extracted from another… from another one of my kind, my body would most likely just ignore it."

"And drugs?"

"Just about the same. Anything that's not enough to kill me outright, like acetylsalicylic acid – aspirin, to you – or something equally poisonous would just get ignored or broken down into usable components and absorbed."

She pondered that for a bit. "Was that what you were reading about?"

He nodded. "Trying to find a loophole. An old… friend used to say that common sense had been bred out of us as an undesirable trait and after having read this I'm tempted to agree with him."

She grinned at him. "Well, there's always the tried and tested method, you know."

He peered down at her, looking, to her, absolutely adorable with his hair mussed and his tie loose. "What's that?"

"An enema. My mother—"

He moved faster than she'd ever seen him, materialising some distance away and putting the desk between them. "Rose Tyler, wash your mouth out!"

She blinked. "What? It's not so bad. I'm telling you, my—"

"Don't!" He raised his hand, palm forward. She glared at him and crossed her arms. "Just, just don't," he said, gesturing wildly. "You can't help having been born practically in the Middle Ages, but there's no need to mention these primitive barbaric atrocities you lot still partake in. Especially, Rose, and this is important, in connection with your – lovely, very nice! – mother."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. In French. Wincing mentally at her own accent. Perhaps she could get the TARDIS to teach her a decent pronunciation. When she opened her eyes again he was still keeping the table between them and looking apprehensive. She sighed. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. I'm going to go wash my hair, all right? Good luck with your reading."

She smiled at him before turning around, but he was already rifling through the books again.

* * *

It was difficult to track the passage of time on the TARDIS. Rose knew she'd washed her hair, read Olivia Goldsmith's " _Wish Upon A Star_ ", watched an incomprehensive alien sitcom, went through her backlog of gossip magazines, listened to a huge amount of music, had various showers and meals in between, painted her nails several times and had slept often enough that it all ought to have translated to two or three days' worth of linear time. There was no way to be sure, though, and she'd long since stopped worrying about things like that anyway.

Quite a bit of the non-time she also spent worrying, or at least thinking about the Doctor. She kept telling herself, however, that he was an adult, many times older than her, and would sort himself out the way he saw fit. He'd managed very well for many centuries before he met her, after all.

She did, however, also run out of nail polish remover, which left her stuck with an unappealing girly pink until their next stop. Not prepared to tolerate this, she decided to see if the medlab would provide some acetone.

She ran into the Doctor in the corridor, by the odd purple tree thing. He looked deep in thought, only noticing her when she was just a few steps away. When he looked up, she decided against asking if he was feeling any better; it was too obvious that he didn't.

In fact, he looked so dejected that, without another thought, she walked up and wrapped him in a tight hug, slipping her arms under his coat. He hugged her back, familiar and tall and—

She raised her head to look at him. "Doctor, why are you smelling of hyacinth?"

He grinned. "Tea."

She wrinkled her nose. "A tea that smells of hyacinth? Doesn't sound very tasty."

"No, it really wasn't." He grimaced slightly, then brightened again. "Although, a touch of lemon might—"

"Why were you drinking it then?"

She felt him tense, the tell-tale blush creeping across his ears. "It's very healthy, you know. Supposed to be good for all sorts of things. A universal cure."

"And was it?"

He didn't answer, just held her tighter. She ran a hand over his back, freeing the other one from his coat to tangle it in his hair. They stayed like this for several moments, until he relaxed a little, settling into her. She nuzzled his neck and he sighed deeply, then made a low sound that made her draw back and look at him again.

"My stomach hurts," he said miserably. She stroked his back, resolving never to tell him how much he'd reminded her of her youngest cousin just then. On the heels of that thought came the sobering realisation that he really wasn't used to being sick, apart from the occasional injury and regeneration sickness. It must be beyond frightening to have your body suddenly betray you after so many years.

"We'll sort it out," she promised, scratching the spot between his shoulder blades that normally made him sigh and shiver. "Come on, let's think. What haven't you tried yet?"

He sighed into her hair. "I don't know. There isn't really that much I _can_ try. Most things that are potent enough to have any effect at all are likely to kill me outright, or worse."

"You said you can consciously control it all, though," she said slowly. "Didn't you try that?"

He winced. "I thought about it, but considering that it was what got me into this situation in the first place, I decided to leave things are they are, for now. Chances are that would only make it worse."

Pressing her nose into his shoulder Rose considered the available options, considering that drugs and primitive barbaric atrocities were out.

He tensed against her and drew in a breath as if to say something, then let it out silently. She waited a moment, and then looked up. "What?"

He was blushing. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single thing. Nada. Nichts. Niente."

She removed her hand from his hair and poked him gently. "What is it?"

"Weeell", he said, looking anywhere but at her. "I might have been a bit hasty in my judgement. A tiny little bit."

"Uh-huh."

"Just. Ah." He rubbed his neck. "When I called certain things barbaric. I mean, they are, obviously, but there was no call for me to, er, call them that."

Rose very carefully did not roll her eyes. "It's hardly being chained up and tortured, you know." She raised a hand when he opened his mouth. "No, seriously, I don't want to know." He closed his mouth again and she stroked his jaw with her thumb. "It's really not too bad. I had to have them a few times when I was a kid, and it's just a little uncomfortable. And it works a lot faster than any drugs."

Leaning forward, he rested his chin on top of her head, silent. She wrapped both arms around him again, feeling the differences in their respective body temperatures even through the clothing. "Do you want to give it a try and see if it's all right? You could always stop it if you really hate it," she offered quietly, careful not to spook him. To him it really was caveman methods, she thought, no wonder he was horrified.

After a moment she felt him nod hesitantly. She smiled into his shoulder. "Let's go and see if the TARDIS will provide," she offered, taking his hand, moving purposefully towards the medlab.

He made a face. "I hardly think she would ever," he began, but she'd reached the door by then and opened the first cupboard she came to, vaguely remembering that last time it had contained mostly bandages. This time, to her immense relief, there was a tidy pile of familiar equipment, plus some towels and a bottle of lubricant.

Rose turned around and saw the Doctor staring at the rubber hose as if it was a coiled snake about to strike. "Look, it's really not complicated," she said, trying not to smile. "I'd say it's not rocket science, but you actually know rocket science."

He stepped back, looking down in horrified fascination. "It's—it's barbaric."

"Yes, you said already," she said more brusquely than she'd meant to. "Here, look. Clamp, bag, hook it up at about waist height, go really slowly…"

She looked up to see him backing away, his face a study in dismay. "Surely you can't be serious," he began and stopped, swallowing convulsively.

"I am, and don't call me Shirley," she misquoted with a grim smile. "Doctor, I really don't see why you are making such a fuss." His expression didn't change and she sighed. "It won't bite. I'd help you, but I can't actually do anything unless I'm there with you, and somehow I doubt…"

He broke eye contact and looked down, his ears red. "Well."

She blinked incredulously. " _Do_ you want me there?"

He sighed and drew his hand through his hair. "Rose, I haven't the faintest idea how to use these torture devices of yours, even if their function is obvious. It was your idea and…"

She came closer, taking his hand. "And?"

Leaning forward he spoke into her hair. "Would you? Please?"

* * *

"Right," Rose said, coming out of the bathroom to sit down on her half of the bed. The Doctor was leaning against the headboard, wearing striped pyjamas and looking apprehensive. "Want a backrub?"

"I want to get this over with," he said sharply, and then rubbed his face wearily. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Rose took his hands in hers, leaning over to kiss him. "I know," she said calmly, "but you need to relax first."

He sighed, then lay back and crossed his arms defiantly. "I _am_ relaxed."

This time she didn't even try to stifle her snort. "Yeah, right."

He actually pouted. Rose would have laughed if there wasn't the very real danger of him bolting. Instead she stretched out next to him, pulling him close. He was so tense he was almost vibrating with it, but he came willingly enough. She reached for his hand and rubbed his knuckles with her thumb, pondering an idea. "Where does it hurt?" she asked after a moment.

Without looking away from the ceiling he drew their joined hands to his stomach, pressing her palm to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. She left it there for a bit, and then pulled the bottoms down a little to expose his belly. He wriggled his hips to help her, but didn't move otherwise.

Moving slowly, she slipped her hand under his pyjama top and stroked his stomach, drawing a sigh from him. Taking that as encouragement she began to rub gently, the coarse hair tickling her palm. His stomach felt hard as rock under her hand and she frowned worriedly, cursing his stubbornness. He could have done this at least two days ago.

It took a few minutes, but eventually Rose felt him relax against her, turning his face into her shoulder and closing his eyes. She leaned down for a quick kiss, marvelling yet again at how much he cherished physical contact. It humbled her, knowing that she could give him so much with often very little effort on her part.

"That feels good," he said quietly, twisting a little so her hand slipped lower.

She rubbed firmly just below his navel. "It will feel much better when we're done."

He snorted, then sighed. "Rose, I don't think there are enough words in English to describe how incredibly stupid this entire situation is."

"That's just silly." She kissed him again, lingering a little this time. "Everybody is allowed to get sick once in a while. You're lucky; it could have been some space plague or something."

He put his hand on top of hers, pressing down hard. "Space plagues are force majeure. This is me being stupid as a— as somebody very stupid."

"Doctor, human here, remember? I get sick all the time. You didn't think I was an idiot last time I had a cold. You even made me tea."

He didn't look convinced but didn't press the issue. "Right. Well. How does this work, anyway? I mean, the mechanics are obvious, but…" he faltered, looking more lost than she'd ever seen him.

"We'll go slowly," she said, trying for the detached tone that she knew would calm him. "I can hook up the bag to the headboard, that's low enough so you shouldn't feel too uncomfortable. If you do, just tell me, and we'll stop, all right?" He nodded, looking anything but convinced.

Suddenly Rose was struck by an uncomfortable thought. "Are you built like a human? Inside, I mean."

He pursed his lips, thinking. "Weeeell. Close enough for this, I suppose. I don't have an appendix, obviously, but, well, yes. Of course, one might argue that humans are built like me..."

Grinning, Rose rolled away and got out of bed. "Or one might not argue at all. Take your pyjamas off."

A fiery blush travelled across his ears and down his cheekbones. "Are you sure that's necessary?" His voice came out almost as a squeak.

Reminding herself forcefully of their respective attitudes towards clothing, she perched on the side of the bed. "Just the bottoms, and you can stay under the sheets, if you like. Is that all right?"

He nodded and gestured vaguely. "Would you…"

She turned around and busied herself with turning the light down a little, listening to the rustling behind her. "Say when."

There was more rustling. "When," he said eventually, and she turned to find him wrapped into the sheets like a mummy, covered up to his chin.

I will not laugh, she told herself firmly, not even giggle. Instead she sat back on the side of the bed and stroked through his hair. "Right. Turn on your side, with your back to me."

He complied, fighting a bit with the bedclothes. "Try not to strangle yourself first, too," she advised dryly, and pulled the sheets from underneath him so she could actually reach his body. She tapped his leg and then reached for the tube of lubricant. "Pull your knee up."

His lower body temperature meant she could forego warming the gel first. Covering her fingers thickly, Rose reached under the sheets and between his legs, sparing a quick uncharitable thought for his body modesty that meant she couldn't see what she was doing. She knew his body well enough to find her intended target almost immediately, though, and rubbed her fingertips gently around his opening.

After a minute he turned awkwardly, looking at her over his shoulder. "Rose? What are you doing?"

"I can't just stick something up your bum, can I?" she answered with a grin, covering her fingers in lubricant again. "Gotta get you ready first."

"Ah," he said, turning around again. "Carry on, then."

She rolled her eyes freely, now that he couldn't see her, and carried on as ordered. By the third application of the gel she could slip her fingertip inside him and continued to work the lubricant generously inside the tight ring of muscle as well as the outside.

The fourth time she went back for more gel, her fingers bumped into his balls and he twitched, gasping. She snatched her hand back. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

His voice was strangled. "Nope. Go on."

Huh. This time she stroked purposefully further up, sliding her slick fingers over his balls and higher. When she drew her hand along his length he made a quickly stifled noise; he was half hard already, his erection growing as she stroked.

Rose hadn't really been thinking of the situation as sexual in any way, between her worry for him and the awareness of his embarrassment. Now, however, the implications hit her like a baby grand falling from a cliff: he was all but naked and spread out in front of her while she was stroking various intimate portions of his anatomy. It wasn't surprising that _he_ was aroused, only that _she_ hadn't been.

The next few minutes were spent to their mutual satisfaction. Rose spent a good portion of the lubricant on his entrance, ensuring that she could slip two fingers in easily. She didn't neglect other parts of him, however, stroking him to a raging erection.

After a while she sat back, just looking. He had relaxed enough to sprawl a little and lose some of his sheet cocoon. His lean body never failed to make her tingle; in a different situation she would have pounced. His eyes were closed and his lips partly open, his breathing deep and even. He looked good enough to eat or, at the very least, nibble.

She leaned down to kiss him instead. He responded quickly, eagerly, sucking on her bottom lip and stroking his tongue along hers. She drew back regretfully and stood up. "I'll be right back, yeah?"

The filled bag was in the bathroom where she'd left it, cooled down to what would be a comfortable temperature for him. She gathered up the things, added a few towels and returned to the bedroom. He hadn't moved, but was watching her, his head tilted back.

Rose hanged the bag on the headboard, which was sprouting a newly grown hook. Settling back into the still warm spot she'd just vacated, she lubricated the nozzle with as much gel as would stay on and reached for him again. He'd tensed up while she was gone, but not dramatically.

"Right," she said decisively. "I'll be very careful. Tell me if I'm hurting you." Taking a big glop of gel she rubbed it over his entrance, and then pressed the nozzle against it gently. He took a deep breath and seemed to force himself to relax, because it slid in easily enough. She moved at a snail's pace, rubbing his hip with her free hand.

When it was finally all in she looked up at him. His eyes were closed and he was frowning, but he didn't seem to be in any great discomfort. "All right?" she asked warily. He hummed in agreement, but didn't move.

Relieved, she leaned down and kissed his back. "We'll do it as slow as anything. Tell me if you get a stomach cramp, I'll stop right away."

He didn't open his eyes, but sighed in irritation. "Rose, that's basic anatomy. Surely you know the difference between the stomach and the large intestine."

Sticking her tongue out at him she released the clamp.

The bag was low enough that the water flowed very slowly, giving her enough time to make him comfortable in the meantime. Comfortable, she decided, could translate to 'seriously turned on'. She stroked a finger along the underside of his cock, grinning as he shivered. His leg was in the way for anything too athletic, but she could reach him easily enough to stroke him slowly, occasionally reaching down to fondle his balls.

Some minutes later she stopped the water and leaned in to quickly kiss his nose. "How're you doing?"

He opened his eyes and seemed to seriously consider the question, his eyes unfocussed. "Weeell. It's not exactly comfortable, but it's not too bad." He grinned at her, eyes crinkling mischievously. "Especially with this kind of encouragement."

She grinned back, relieved. "I'm turning it back on. Tell me if you get too full or need to stop."

They fell into a rhythm, the water filling him slowly as she stroked him leisurely; a steady burn instead of an explosion. He seemed to mind the process much less than she'd feared. In fact, Rose was planning a thorough "I told you so" moment afterwards, but that could certainly wait.

She was teasing his balls when he twitched and stiffened. Alarmed, she turned off the water. He groaned and curled up tightly, the sheets forgotten.

Quickly slipping a towel-covered pillow under his back, she stroked his arm. "Come on, turn over."

After a moment he did, his head lolling back. He was sweating, tense as a bowstring. Rose winced and put her hand on his belly; it was visibly distended. She rubbed his stomach firmly, watching his face closely in case she ended up hurting him more. Eventually he relaxed, exhaling. She didn't stop, just slowed down a bit, the circular motion calming her as much as him.

He opened her eyes and looked at her, blinking in the dim light. "Bloody hell. I see what you meant now."

Rose cringed. "Yeah. Are you all right?"

" _No_ ," he said emphatically, letting his head fall back again. "But it will have to do for now."

"Aww." She grinned and pressed a kiss to his belly. "You are about three quarters done. Stop or go on?"

He waved a hand imperiously. "Might as well finish it."

She let him lie on his back; he looked comfortable enough with the pillow. Turning the water back on, she turned so she could rub his stomach with one hand and his now flagging erection with the other. It took quite a bit of concentration, even if she had to move very slowly, but she thought that at least she didn't have to pat anyone's head.

By the time the bag deflated the Doctor was moving around a bit, wincing. "There," she said, "all done."

"Oh." He looked surprised and a little confused. "What happens now?"

"Now you lie here and talk to me for five minutes, then we get you to the loo."

He looked downright panicky. "Five minutes?"

She patted his stomach carefully. "You don't have to if you absolutely can't, but you can try, at least." At his singularly incredulous expression she smiled. "C'mon, talk to me. Tell me something."

He grinned at her, only slightly strained. "That's a rather broad definition, Rose Tyler. What do you want to know?"

She bit her lip, pretending to think. "Tell me… where we're going next."

"What, no comments about my driving?"

"All right, where you are planning to go next, then."

"Have I shown you the Crystal Temple on Laima IV yet?"

"Was that when we ended up in that place where everybody was wearing turquoise instead and you got thrown in jail for wearing brown and I had to break you out?"

He shifted, taking her hand. "Where I took a well-deserved break enjoying the local amenities and allowed my trusty assistant to demonstrate her lock picking skills." He paused, frowning. "Oh."

She squeezed his hand. "What is it?"

He tensed up, sweat beading on his forehead. "Rose, I don't think I… oh."

She stroked his stomach with her free hand, taking care not to exert pressure this time. "You can do it; just a little bit longer. Take a deep breath."

He did, letting it out in a rush. "Where was I? Ah, the Crystal Temple. Did you know they have— ah. They have those little bells…"

"Crystal bells?"

"What? Oh, yes. Those little crystal bells, arranged on the roof and. Oh. Oohhhh." He pulled his knees up. "Rose, I can't, it's. Ah. Really quite urgent."

She pushed a little at his hip to turn him on his side. "Just another minute, Doctor."

He straightened his legs and immediately curled up again. "I don't think I can last another minute without it becoming – oh! – becoming significantly more unpleasant in here." He grunted, his knees almost bumping his chin. " _Rose._ "

"Right." She rubbed his lower back, just above his arse. "Do you want the nozzle out now or in the toilet?"

"Now," he gasped. "I don't think I," he breathed in through gritted teeth, "I could walk with it."

She pulled gently, steadying him with her other hand. He was squirming so much that she was afraid to hurt him, but taking it out slowly would have been unnecessary torture for him. In the end she managed to pull it out in one quick movement, pressing a folded up towel to his backside. "There. Can you stand?"

"I certainly hope so," he said grimly, turning awkwardly and all but falling out of the bed. She scooted to the side to give him room, grimacing as he hobbled past her to the bathroom door.

Rose tidied up while he was in the bathroom, doing her best not to listen. Eventually the more unpleasant sounds faded and she heard the shower start. She had cleaned up the equipment in an unused bathroom, returned it to the medlab, changed the sheets and taken the laundry down to the washing machine before he finally emerged, damp, towel wrapped around his hips and hair looking vaguely crazy.

She looked up from her magazine, looking him over anxiously. "How are you doing?"

He grinned at her, and she felt an answering grin on her lips. Then her magazine was on the floor and she was covered by a blanket of wet Time Lord, squealing as he attacked her most ticklish spots.

She batted at his hands, laughing. "Oi, get off! You feeling better, then?"

He licked her nose with the utmost concentration. "Brilliantly. Amazingly. Dare I say it – fantastically!" Suddenly he rolled off her, giving her a quick, fierce kiss. "I can't say I ever want to repeat the experience, but I freely admit that you were right. Thank you, Rose Tyler."

She buried her hands in his hair, still damp and surprisingly soft without the normally ever-present gel. "I'm glad it worked."

He nibbled on her bottom lip. "So am I. Now," and his hand sneaked under her top, cool fingers coming to rest against the underside of her breast. "Where were we?"

She shivered and grinned. "Halfway to Laima IV?"


End file.
